Stained
by ricetard
Summary: Salazar wants nothing more to hate Godric, yet he finds that he cannot. Oneshot, slash, Godric/Salazar. Late birthday present for MaFiA-MaDaMe


The quill twirls in Salazar's fingertips, dripping with ink. Yet, no drop stains the piece of parchment beneath it.

Salazar thinks, he thinks far, he thinks of trees and children and candles. And he thinks of Muggles, how he detests them so, because they are weak and he despises weaknesses.

His tongue flicks to the roof of his mouth, and a snake comes, a snake of golden and emerald, danced with scarlet as red as blood. And the gold makes him think of Godric, Godric who is so pure and brave and perfect. Godric who is kind and loving and courageous and stands up for the weak, stands up for the Muggles, stands up for all those that Salazar hates. But he is no pushover—he fights, he fights with Salazar, he makes Salazar feel small because he is always right, he always wins—but Salazar has the dignity to show him humility. And he is always seen smaller next to Godric—because he is smaller.

The parchment remains untouched.

* * *

Salazar wants to hate Godric. He want to hate him, to want to kill him, to want to stab him in the chest because he's so goddamn _perfect_ and right, right about everything, and he can argue with Salazar about everything—and Godric gets along perfectly well with Rowena and Helga, but it's Salazar he fights with, Salazar he clashes with, Salazar whose mind and brain and heart he completely fucks up.

And these aren't the kind of thoughts a young adult as Salazar should have, but every waking moment when he is around Godric, his eyes want to burn into his skull. And Godric is not so kind of forgive him immediately, because Godric has morals and humanities and dignity and pride, but when he forgives, he does it out of love. He does it out of, you're still my brother Salazar, you're still my friend and I can't hate you forever.

Salazar wishes he could hate Godric forever, because then he wouldn't feel this guilt, this regretful love he has for Godric—because he's not supposed to love him, he loves fighting with him, he loves clashing and arguing and conflicting. And Salazar thinks he is masochistic, because sometimes he tries to fight with Godric over something he knows he is wrong.

* * *

He cannot imagine life without Godric; they've known each other forever, though they are not very old. And Salazar is often so jealous of Rowena and Helga, because Godric seems more willing to stay with them than him (or maybe it's just his imagination because their fighting takes most of the time). And sometimes Salazar wonders what would happen if he just left, if Godric would ever miss him, if Godric even values him at all.

And Salazar asks Godric this, one day when the air is a little less than tense, and they are friends now, friends (Salazar hates that word). Salazar asks, he wonders, _Godric, if I just disappeared from your life, what would you do?_

And Godric is astonished at first, at this question, because it does not drip with the toy knives Salazar's words usually have (toys because they mean nothing even though they are knives). But then Godric shakes his head and says, _That won't happen, because you wouldn't disappear, Sal. You're not supposed to._

_But what if I do?_ Salazar wants a real answer from Godric, not an excuse to make him feel foolish.

_You won't. I won't let you_.

* * *

Salazar enjoys the day because there are people, there are others who can see him, and Salazar enjoys being seen. He basks in all, any of the attention he receives, and looks down on those who say they hate attention—because who wants to be ignored?

Not even Godric can deny he likes attention, but Salazar reprimands him that they have something in common. But he knows the truth—that they have so much in common, too much in common, and that is why they clash so much. They have so much in common that Salazar hates it, he hates himself and he wants to hate Godric. He wants to hate him more than anything else.

But he can't, because he's _Godric_ and how can he hate him? And though he acts like, tells himself that he hates Godric with all his heart, he knows that he does not. And he likes the day, because in the day is where people can see him, see and he and Godric arguing, the time they have together—and this is Salazar's way of saying, _Get away you bastards. Godric is mine only._

_

* * *

_

And Salazar loves the nights, because they are driven by the pleasure of lust and no one can see what he is doing, who he is. He can be whatever he wants to be, protected by the shadows, the darkness.

And it is in the nights when he and Godric meet, when they finally see eye to eye as Salazar takes him in in a rough kiss, mouths smogged by warmth against the other's, pressed as hot lips taste and tease and tongues wander, skin touching skin. And it is in the dark where they meet each other, all conflicts lost in their heat of passion as clothing slips off and hands go southwards and they touch and fuck and do everything unknown to the rest of the world. And as Salazar cherishes the day where he shows Godric to everyone, he takes pleasures in the nights where it is only the two of them, Godric and Salazar.

And Salazar loves this. He loves Godric, he loves that Godric has no one but hi. And in the night, the quiet, the peace, he loves that this love he has, is only fueled by hate.


End file.
